


An Ugliness that's Impossible to Love

by ficsandfuckery



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Anal Sex, Compulsion, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e07 Measure of Disorder, M/M, Oral Sex, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandfuckery/pseuds/ficsandfuckery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of going and needlessly getting Ashley Valentine involved, Roman waits until Letha leaves, and then takes out his emotional breakdown on the one who really deserves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ugliness that's Impossible to Love

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the supreme purple-ness of my prose turns you off.  
> Also, this is written in a 3rd person that switches pretty frequently from Roman's to Peter's POV and for that I apologize also.  
> That being said, I wrote this last night and have edited it a little, but it's not beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine, and I'm an idiot for them. Let me know if there something I could fix, and maybe I will.

He could see Letha kissing Peter through the window, their bodies close as they cuddled on the couch. Roman shivered and it had nothing to do with the icy rain pouring down on him. Murder raced through his mind, through for a moment Roman couldn’t tell who he wanted to hurt more. Letha got up off the couch. Now she was straightening her clothes, the picture of innocence and purity, baby bump and all, and Roman felt all his rage turn hotly on Peter. If that fucking Gypsy thought he could fuck Roman’s cousin to prove some point, he had another thing coming.

Roman hid while Peter walked Letha out to her car, but the rain was so loud and the night so dark that they didn’t notice when he stepped into the trailer behind them. Peter didn’t even notice Roman sitting on the couch until he saw the puddle on the floor from the rain Roman had tracked in.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Peter said after a long beat.

Roman didn't say anything. He’d come in here planning to attack, to hurt Peter like Peter had hurt him, but now he couldn’t speak. At the sight of Peter, entering the trailer with that in-love little smile on his face, Roman suddenly felt a bone-deep loneliness scrape the depths of his self-loathing and come up sopping wet. That was how, when he eventually did look up and open his mouth, all that came out of his mouth was:

“I’m ugly.”

Peter frowned, faintly aware that Roman was not okay, but he stayed away anyway, the Upir still far from forgiven.

“Is that how you Godfreys do you apologies?” he asked, pulling off his rain soaked jacket.

“I should go,” Roman said, his voice breaking. He got up, defeated.

“The hell you should, it’s fucking insane out there,” Peter said, blocking the door, som obscene protectiveness of Roman kicking in now of all times.

Roman was about to protest that Peter had just seen Letha off so he couldn’t be that worried about it, but his eyes met Peter’s and then the rage was back, the rage that was tinted with something else; something strong and akin to lust. Roman turned away and bit his lip, refusing to cry. Behind him Peter pulled off his boots before coming around to Roman’s front.

“Shee-it,” he muttered.

Tears streaked heavily down Roman’s cheeks, and blood trailed from where he’d been biting his lip. He tried not to meet Peter’s eyes, but Peter wouldn’t let him avoid them for long, and when their gazes finally met Roman broke. Suddenly he was sobbing, broken shards of himself pushing through the cracks in the wall around his heart.

“Roman, hey, what’s going on?” Peter asked, helping Roman to collapse back onto the couch instead of on the floor. He was still trying to be mad at Roman, but only just. 

“I should go,” Roman sobbed, but even he knew that was bullshit.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Peter dismissed, patting him on the shoulder. “Here, you know what, Lynda’s gonna be a pain in the balls if we ruin this couch, and you’re probably freezing in those clothes, so let’s get you changed into something dry.”

Roman sniffled and let Peter pull him up off the couch and shove a dry t-shirt and sweats into his hands. Roman shuffled to the bathroom and stripped in front of the bathroom mirror, staring into his own eyes as he dried himself off with a towel and changed into Peter’s t-shirt, the sweatpants far too small to be worth putting on.

He walked back to the front room still feeling hollow, and sat down on the couch again, which now had towels on it. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the room still smelled like sex. Roman shivered. Peter came back into the room.

“Well you’ve certainly got the legs for it, damn, Godfrey,” he said, offering Roman a beer, which Roman took on reflex. They sat beside each other on the couch for a long time in silence. Peter drinking, Roman, not moving.

“So I guess we should talk about this, huh?” Peter suggested reluctantly.

Roman sniffled and continued staring off into the distance. Peter raised an eyebrow and sighed.

“I’m sorry, about… I didn’t mean to… I mean I meant to, but then I didn’t anymore and it…” Peter gave up and took a drink. “It’s this fucking back and forth between us, you know? It never benefits anyone.” Peter noticed that Roman hadn’t moved, and in fact appeared not to be listening at all. This was an illusion, but nonetheless it brought him to lean closer to the Upir and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

“Roman? Man, say something.”

Roman parted his lips and breathed in a shaky breath. “I’m ugly,” he confessed.

Peter’s face contorted with speechless confusion, annoyance and worry.

“I’m an ugly person,” Roman said.

“Well you’re a prick, but I wouldn’t go that far…”

Roman finally raised his face and looked Peter straight in the eye.

“I have an ugliness that’s impossible to- love,” he said, a single tear escaping from his reddened eyes as he dropped his head down again.

Peter’s heart broke so hard that for a second he wondered which moon they were on.

“Roman, you impossible son of a bitch,” he said gently, putting a hand on either side of Roman’s face. “That is so massively untrue.” He kissed the top of Roman’s head. “Roman, you’re the most terrifyingly beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

Roman fought back more tears and shook his head in disagreement.

“Yeah, you are,” Peter said, wiping tears from Roman’s cheeks and blood from his lips.

Roman tilted his head up, his breath evening out a bit, and put a hand on Peter’s cheek. Peter closed his eyes and practically melted into his touch as Roman caressed his face. Roman had never been sure when he felt hints that Peter might want this, but now everything was clearer, like the rain was washing away all the bullshit they’d been hiding behind. Roman slid his hand around to the back of Peter’s head and wrapped his fingers in the Gypsy’s hair, giving it a good tug.

Peter’s eyes flew open. Good. He’d been enjoying that too much, the damn whore. Now he looked almost frightened. That was something Roman could enjoy. But it was only entertaining for a moment. The rage-lust was back and this time Roman intended to act upon it. 

Far from turned off by the sudden unexplained violence, Peter eagerly pushed in between Roman’s lips when the Upir mashed their mouths together, Roman’s hand still firmly at the back of his head. There was some resistance when Roman pushed him back into lying across the sofa beneath him, but still Peter seemed to be enjoying himself if the growing hard-on beneath his jeans was anything to go by. Roman felt a kind of pride at that, but mostly a kind of disgust at both himself and Peter.

Roman got on his knees straddling Peter and began to work the wolf out of his jeans, but was intercepted by Peter’s hands tugging off the t-shirt he’d just loaned him. Peter’s eyes went wide when he saw the bandage on Roman’s chest, but he didn’t remark on it. Instead he lifted his hips and let Roman slide his jeans down to his ankles, kicking them off the rest of the way himself. 

When Roman stopped touching him completely, Peter took the rest of his undressing into his own hands, pulling off his own shirt and tossing it to the ground with a hint of a smile up at the Upir on top of him. Roman looked out the window at the rain, and at his own reflection against the dark of the night. He was called back into the room when Peter ran his hand up Roman’s chest to play with his nipple.  
Roman stared down at him. 

“Don’t touch me unless I tell you to,” he compelled. “Put your hands above your head and keep them there.”

“Shit, are you doing the thing on me, now?” Peter said disbelievingly, but he raised his hands above his head and found that he couldn’t get them back down. Blood from Roman’s nose dripped down his chin. “Shee-it.”

Roman ran a hand through his rain-slicked hair and knelt down between Peter’s knees, taking his half-hard cock between his full lips in one quick movement that had Peter gasping and squirming beneath him.

There was something disturbingly erotic about having his mouth on the same cock he knew Letha had just been riding. He felt himself twitch in his briefs, and he moaned around Peter’s erection. The degrading nature of this position also had its allure, such an ugly person as himself would only ever deserve the second-hand pleasure of getting people like Peter off, but part of the fun of being this ugly was taking anything he wanted. And he wanted Peter.

Roman pulled off of Peter with a wet sound and an almost canine whine from Peter, and crawled forward until he was sitting on Peter’s chest. Peter gave him a questioning smile.

“Don’t you think I could do a better job from another angle?” he asked as Roman lined himself up with Peter’s lips.

“No,” Roman compelled, and he pushed his cock between Peter’s lips, moaning at the feel of him, and seeing Peter’s face helplessly penetrated by his cock. Peter did what he could with no control of the pace, licking and sucking at Roman and expertly denying his own gag reflex until Roman worried that he might come early.

Roman moved back down to Peter’s hips and was distracted again by the window. He imagined he could see Letha out there. Where he had been when he’d seen her in here. (“You okay, Roman?”) What was he doing here? Whatever had happened between he and Peter, she clearly had feelings for him, and… Peter. Peter was the reason for all of this pain. Roman hated Peter. And there is no pain more profound than hating the person you love most in the world.

Roman flipped Peter over on the couch (“Woah, woah, woah, you got a condom at least? My ass is a very exclusive club…”) and pushed one finger into him forcefully. Peter gasped and cursed, but couldn’t fight him with his hands essentially tied and his legs trapped under Roman. Roman pushed another finger inside. More cursing, a bit of a struggle (“I’ve got lube in the bathroom, it’d make this a lot…”). Roman looked at his reflection in the window and shoved a third finger into Peter, spreading him open and holding him down with his other hand.

When Roman pulled his fingers out Peter stopped struggling. Perhaps he thought Roman was going to go get the lube now. Roman did not. Instead he pressed the head of his cock against Peter’s entrance, and in one swift movement, pushed straight in. Peter yelled, tightening so hard around him that Roman saw stars.

He leaned down over Peter’s bare back and reached around to tug at his dick.

“Tell me I’m ugly, Peter,” he whispered in Peter’s ear.

Peter breathed short, pained breaths, afraid to move. He groaned in spite of himself at the touch of Roman’s hand and his breath on his neck.

“Tell me I’m ugly,” Roman demanded, pulling out a bit and snapping his hips forward again.

“Agh you’re fuckin’ ugly, alright?” Peter choked out. “You’re ugly. You’re ugly. You’re ugly,” he panted as Roman pounded back into him, in and out with a rage and a hunger that was so all consuming that even when he came deep inside Peter the waves of pleasure hardly canceled it out at all.

Peter came moments later, panting and moaning both with pleasure and pain, but by then Roman was standing up behind him and walking to the bathroom to clean himself up. Peter pushed his come-soaked towels off the couch and rolled over onto his back carefully, afraid to sit or even stand with his ass so raw and dripping Roman’s seed.

When Roman came back into the room the tears on Peter’s face stopped him in his tracks for a moment. What the hell had he done? But he hardly felt it as the fresh wave of self-hatred washed over him. He sat down on the edge of the couch and put a hand on Peter’s face.

“Look at me, Peter.”

“No,” Peter said, closing his eyes.

“Let me untie you. Look at me Peter, please,” Roman reasoned.

Peter reluctantly opened his eyes and looked up at Roman. His eyes were still trusting, despite everything. For a moment, Roman was tempted to just untie him and go, but he knew nothing would ever be the same if he left the memories of this in Peter’s head. He’d never have a chance to really say he was sorry.

“Go take a nice warm bath and then go to sleep,” he compelled. “I was never here. You must have fallen really hard on your ass or something.”

“Roman, no…” Peter pled, even as he got up and shuffled towards the bathroom. 

Roman grabbed wiped his bleeding nose on his sleeve and fled the trailer into the cold dark night where his tears couldn’t be seen.


End file.
